Elijah pulled his lips in a thin line before dragging a hand through his now disheveled hair. “A friend.”
“A friend?”
The helicopter landed, and Elijah took my hand as he led me inside, past the bar and down a long hall before we entered a large entertainment area. I hadn’t been on this side of the yacht before, not even aware there was this vast open space that held a twelve-seat dining set, a white corner couch, and a billiard table placed close to a second bar area. It was impossible not to gawk at the lavish surroundings that could easily become the envy of any person not accustomed to this kind of lifestyle.
We reached a black door, and Elijah stilled, turning to face me. “Do not say a word, do you understand me?” His somber expression made my stomach tighten, warning prickling the back of my neck.
“Who is this person? What’s going on?”
“Do you. Understand me?”
His dark gaze burrowed into mine, determination rippling off his shoulders. It scared me, as if a dark storm of foreboding was approaching, threatening to break all around us.
“I understand.” I bit the corner of my mouth, struggling not to bombard him with anxious questions and demanding answers.
He opened the door, the sliver of sunlight breaking through the clouds beaming down. The rotor blades still hadn’t come to a complete stop, the pulsing noise swooshing and slicing the air, creating more wind.
James stood in front of us, waiting as a man dressed in a black suit exited the chopper. With bated breath, I watched the man fasten his suit jacket, not disturbed or fazed by the gusts of wind the rotor blades continued to produce. It was clear to anyone who watched this man walk across the helipad, shoulders squared with a confidence one could spot a mile away, that he fucking owned everything he touched. He exuded sophistication and power even from a distance. He had the same regal and majestic presence Elijah had—the same authority that beamed from his eyes as he regarded us. A six-foot-three powerhouse wrapped in a five-thousand-dollar suit.
James stepped in behind the man as he stopped a few feet away from us, the noise of the rotor blades quietening.
Something felt wrong. The way this man studied Elijah, then slipping his gaze down to me, regarding me no more than two seconds before turning his attention back to Elijah.
Elijah’s grip on my hand tightened. “Marcello Saint Russo, what a surprise.”
I immediately recognized the name.
“You should have told me you planned on paying us a visit. Kind of risky, given our current circumstances, don’t you think?”
Saint shot his cuffs, straightening his suit jacket. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have risked it if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.” His voice was low, his expression hard and unreadable. Intimidating.
Elijah shifted, widening his stance. “Perhaps you can enlighten me, then, since your little unplanned trip has the potential to ruin this entire operation.”
“I’m afraid I had no other choice.” He glanced over his shoulder at James, the gun he pulled from his jacket pocket glinting under the slivers of sunrays. My heart ceased, my pulse racing and palms sweating. Everything turned hazy, fogged, like a dream.
A nightmare.
Elijah stiffened, forcing me farther in behind him, shielding me with his large frame.
“What the fuck is going on here, Saint?”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe, stone-cold terror slicing up my spine, and I had no idea what was happening.
“Why are you here?”
Saint smirked, eyes dark and gaze filled with malice. “I’m here for the girl.”
